Paint By Numbers
by CrimsonPathways
Summary: A member of the Sekihoutai troop is alive, it is not Sanosuke? What will happen if there really is an alive member, somewhere, out there? Who is this mysterious warrior, and what of their past could be dangerous, if remembered? Fate twists in mysterious w
1. Prologue::

"Sagara!" A disheartened and rancorous yell broke the hours of darkness brusquely. Ownership to the voice unknown, a figure fell to the ground, taking the look of a famished young boy if perhaps the onlooker had not the time to come even the slightest distance closer. Fingers scraped against the cold terrain as that same outline tried to pull themself from the ground, unsuccessfully. The unfamiliar and uninvited blackness fogged a pair of aberrantly-seeming scarlet eyes with the impact of the soil, and in a whirl of black were covered by the slipping of their eyelids. Fallen beside the familiar Captain who had recently been gunned down when trying to save one of the Sekihoutai troop, Sanosuke, the limp and thinned body lay still on the earth, yet the guards were already gone.

Though an exhausted heart slipped away from the normal quick beat, still it did beat, and in the same way as does a drum when the drummer is ordered to play a slow and staccato version of some soft and dismayed song. Hope was little for the one who laid there, color fading from the already pale cheeks, bruised and stained with the blood from many a warrior. No tears welled those hidden crimson jewels, it was not right for a soldier to shed tears, no matter what be the reason. Thudding of thick boots striking the dirt shook people from their dojos as the governments' finest troops passed through, examining all the dead men that strew their land. Blood tinged their uniforms; they passed the one who had been known as Sagara and the one who had fallen beside him. Discontinuing motion a mere five or so feet from the two, one of them lowered their filthy and mud-splashed face down toward Sagara. "This one's dead, Captain. The other one looks dead as well, splashed from head to toe in blood, I'd assume it is his own."

As the lower-ranking man spoke the one called Captain listened intently, "Well, rid of them then," Came the rough and dry voice of the man.

"Hang on Kyuko; this one seems to be breathing, the small one." That low in rank man had spoken again, he being younger and his voice not as rough.

Laughing at his perverse thoughts, the one called Kyuko glanced over the bodice of the breathing one, "Do you want him; he's not one of ours. Maybe a little play and he won't feel the need for treason."

The other spoke again, his own eyes falling over that figure, "Can't I just shoot him?"

The Captain shook his head gently, shoving a coarse hand violently through a dark russet mane, "Think about it, if you don't want him, I think I'll take him."

An eerie wind silenced the two and the imperceptible breeze brushed over the shoulders of the men. Almost as if something had spooked them, they ran off into the darkness, leaving the two lying there. The petite one's heartbeat was beginning to fade away, slowly, slowly, slowly….


	2. Ebony Flare::

**Chapter 1:**

Bolting up from the ground from a dream-like state a figure came to realization with the bitter floor beneath. "Only a dream," was the muffled whisper, but no, that was remembered well, remembered as if it had only been yesterday. The tips of their fingers drug across the dirt as if to find out exactly where it was, or why they were there; whichever came first. Taking a fleeting look through impenetrable darkness, the crimson eyes could peer no more when outstretched arms halted cold from their moving over the soil. Bare fingers were bitter against the metal of what seemed to be armor and jerked back to its owner as an immediate reaction. Blinking once, the figure thought back to what had happened, and why it was here that they laid. 'Gunshots heard loud in the air, my katana whisking through the air and past my head as struck by a bullet. A piercing pain that stopped me where I stood as Sagara fell to my side. Recalling my brother's death, my brother…' It had rushed over so fast that when it had been apprehended the figure was already to their feet and on their way, away from the town. Only a single half-hearted glance was given in consideration to the fallen comrade, no more than that glance could they give.

The trees, with growling and twisting branches loomed over, and undertook all means of stopping the young one in their tracks. Slender katana at the side of their hip had been used numerous times throughout this brush during the war with the government, which really was not much of a war, now that it had been remembered. For it was more of the Sekihoutai troop simply trying to help the people with the way of the sword. That same arched blade had proved useful with the brush again. A frantic attempt for the continual of existence, it could be called, for when the figure had met with the ground for the first time the soldiers had already been alerted and were after the stray survivor. Matted strands of a dark raven shade clumped and enclosed the vision of the Sekihoutai survivor. It had not been known to them that another was alive at the moment; it had not mattered in the least. Yet, indeed it had struck the mind of this individual at times that Sagara had been in the approach to rescue young Sanosuke.

Even as the thick undergrowth seemed to lessen, it appeared as if freedom was just too much to ask; and it was pondered why they had been spared, why they were not already dead, lying with the rest of the troop on the cold earth; never to be heard from again. Little to be known, the soldiers had stopped their investigation for the survivor of the Sekihoutai long ago, figuring that no one had actually survived and that it was a mere animal that had gotten loose and made the noise. Lustrous in the moonlight that barely got through the dense forest of trees, and only in small streams or rays, gleamed the katana as it split through the leaves that blocked the way to the other side of these woods. The silver was speckled with crimson, a scarlet nightmare. Memories of the night had slowly begun to ebb away all until an odd and very young boy had leapt from the trees. Leaping back as if a ghost had been seen, those red eyes trailed over the unkempt youngster with tousled auburn hair. "Little one, are you okay? Why are you in the forest?" voice suggesting sudden calm and attempt to comfort the youthful fellow.

Giggling, the child had approached rather quickly and reached out to touch the blade. Pulling the blade out of his grip the escaped soldier sheathed the weapon, darting a ruby gaze toward a sketching tablet in the small boy's hands, clenched securely. "Ah, a young artist, eh? May I see what you have drawn?" Nodding a little, the little one curiously approached and handed over the notebook blithely.

Taking a few moments to flip through the blank pages, a slight look of confusion dawned the scarred face. The boy frowned and snatched back his notebook. As he did, an image, sketched in red appeared, blurry, but still was embedded, forever in the mind of the katana-bound person. Small circles danced across the page, as if targets on his map. One red line connected the first dot to the second dot, the first dot was labeled, though it was labeled in sloppily-done Japanese Kanji and could not be made out. Gaze shaking a bit, the swordsman wondered where the boy had gotten the red paint to paint the picture of dots and the single line. It had looked like blood, but no, it could not have been; twas berries of some kind, or something else.

Although the youth's approach was quite startling, his hasty retreat was even more so a shock. Leaping back a few feet, the blade was unsheathed again, expecting an attack or something of that sort. It was nearly a surprise when nothing arrived, leaving the silhouette of armor and a blade on an outstretched arm. Scanning the area, as if something may still have been there, and very well could have been, they left the spot with a sudden grace. Swinging the sword back and forth, a trail was left affront for to follow, though there had been no other attempted paths.

Thoughts were still racing back to the boy and his strange drawing, and what it could mean. The stress was welling up inside, thinking back still to how beautiful Sagara was, and why he had the strength to die in that way. How any of them could die so easily, though it was of little importance now. They were all gone, every one. Sanosuke could not have made it alive, the danger is too vast, and he had been the youngest. Why did so many men risk their lives for such diminutive a cause? Sword, slipping through sweaty hands flew sideways and into a tree toward the left was stuck straight in the wood and this warrior would be damned to leave the katana and keep on without it. For it was a form of protection, and if left, that should be the demise of this freedom-searcher. At the moment, they could not even remember their name, for the swordsman was too caught up in finding the graceful blade.

A trace of light shimmered nearby, glittering boldly through the trees. The miraculous hues appearing through this glitz danced across the maroon-shaded viewing portals and entranced a ruby gaze. Fiery reds and blazing gingers flashed between the trees and licked the birch wood in a heavenly manner. It had not even come to mind what these colors resembled, as the view was too captivating to take mind to anything else around. Scampering over the steel-toed boots, which were buried in the spring grass, crept a small animal of a rich burgundy tint. Disappearing off into the forest, it had averted the gape of the usually keen warrior and a certain heat raged over, warming chilled bones. The warmth was welcomed although it was not coming from the greatest source. For a fire swept through the enclosing trees and was already becoming vast in size.

Stepping tenderly over the loose soil, they sought finding of the only weapon and treasure that in spite of everything, meant something. A large branch overhead creaked warningly and began to crack from the tree. With one last glance toward the screeching branch, it fell loose and broke from where it had been fastened to the bark.


End file.
